/0/1239/coverbig.jpg?v=789e46a4f9704d22c44ea2b72483271e)
One night, at the end of August, when Bathsheba's experiences as a married woman were still new, and when the weather was yet dry and sultry, a man stood motionless in the stockyard of Weatherbury Upper Farm, looking at the moon and sky.
The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breeze from the south slowly fanned the summits of lofty objects, a